When the order had been given, Mary Louise repeated her question.
“It happened a week ago—on a Saturday,” explained Mrs. Flick. “Mr. Clifford had four college boys visiting him, and they all went across the river that evening to a dance at the Royal Hotel. Mrs. Hunter went along with ’em. When they came back, the place was burned to the ground.”
“Didn’t anybody see the flames—or smell the smoke?”
“No. The wind was the other way from the hotel, and there wasn’t anybody at Shady Nook to notice. Everybody, except Pa and me, went to the dance. And we were sound asleep.”
Hattie came back with the soup, and Mrs. Flick rose from her chair. “I’ll see you later,” she said as she hurried into the house.
“It sounds very mysterious,” muttered Mary Louise.
“Oh, there’s probably some simple explanation,” replied Jane lightly. “We’ll have to ask Clifford Hunter. Where is he, Mary Lou? Do you see him?”
The other girl glanced hastily about the big porch and shook her head.
“Not here,” she answered. “But he may be inside. There’s another dining room in the bungalow.”
“This isn’t Clifford?” asked Jane, watching a tall, good-looking, dark-eyed young man coming out of the door.